


The Hardest Steps to Take (Are Easier When I Take Them With You)

by Telaryn



Series: The Hero and The Bad Boy [15]
Category: Leverage, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Anal Sex, Blindfolds, Boys In Love, Boys Kissing, Consensual Kink, Cuddling & Snuggling, Dirty Talk, Dominance, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, Hand Jobs, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Safe Sane and Consensual, Submission, Trust Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-12
Updated: 2013-04-12
Packaged: 2017-12-08 06:44:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/758294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Telaryn/pseuds/Telaryn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Given their very complicated history, Clint and Quinn have taken to settling in their sex life for what will cause the least emotional upheaval.  When Clint realizes that he's finally ready for more, he prepares as completely as he can to present the idea to his lover.</p><p>Neither one of them are entirely prepared for the emotional truths a strip of black fabric can bring out into the open.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Hardest Steps to Take (Are Easier When I Take Them With You)

**Author's Note:**

> For all that it's established fanon that these two are like a couple of horny teenagers around each other, this is the first honest-to-goodness porn I've written for this pairing. True, it's draped over some fairly significant steps in their relationship, but let's be honest...ultimately it's about the pretty boys fucking.

_”You can’t live the life you’ve lived and not expect to have nightmares.”_

On the surface it wasn’t something you really wanted to hear from your therapist, but Clint suspected he was finally reaching a point in his recovery where he could accept it. Having Quinn around on a full time basis helped, and it was also encouraging that the dreams were no longer exclusively _about_ Quinn.

When they did come though, they hit hard – more often than not, leaving him mentally and physically exhausted. Quinn offered what comfort and support he could, holding him as long as Clint could allow it, and soothing him back to sleep each time he woke, but once the day started it was a struggle for Clint to even think about getting out of bed, let alone dealing with other people.

“You should call the doc – see if she’s got room in her schedule.” Quinn had largely finished dressing; he was standing in front of the mirror putting the finishing touches on a dark green silk tie.

Clint was sitting up in bed, back against the headboard, knees drawn up to his chest. “Maybe,” he agreed, shrugging his shoulders. “Nat said something about sparring later this morning.” He stifled a yawn that was only partly for effect. “Think I’m going to try and get a few more hours sleep and then meet her in the gym.” He caught the flash of annoyance in Quinn’s pale eyes, but couldn’t muster the energy to react to it. “I need to get out of my head for a while,” he said finally. “That’s all. I’ll be fine.”

Quinn padded across the carpet and sat on the edge of the bed. “Nothing wrong with getting some more sleep, I guess.”

Clint rested his chin on his arms, watching Quinn slip on a pair of expensive leather dress shoes. “You look good,” he said quietly, appreciating the color and cut of the suit, and how both flattered his lover’s already handsome build. “ _Really_ good,” he emphasized, as Quinn finally met his gaze and smiled at the compliment.

“It was strange at first,” he admitted, “but Stark runs a solid operation, and I think the suits help me look the part.

“Don’t you mean _Pepper_ runs a solid operation?” Clint asked, smirking.

Quinn inched closer to him on the mattress. “Stark knows enough to surround himself with top people and he’s got no problem letting them do what they do best. As bosses go, I’ve definitely had worse.”

Clint raised an eyebrow. “Should I be jealous?”

Leaning in, Quinn wrapped his fingers around Clint’s wrists and gently but firmly pried his arms open – moving into the space that was created. It was smoothly done, like nearly everything Quinn did. “You’re not my boss,” he murmured, ducking his head and capturing Clint’s mouth in a hungry kiss. The archer moaned, his body growing warm and loose as Quinn moved in, urging him onto his back. _Oh God, oh God, oh God._ Thoughts of peeling Quinn _out_ of his suit, of everything he could do to make him late – or better yet not go in at all – flooded his mind.

A pleasantly heavy weight pressed his hands into the mattress. Clint flexed experimentally against the restraint, and felt a hard, bright stab of arousal cut through him as he realized he couldn’t easily throw Quinn off. He wasn’t trapped, just lightly restrained, and it felt really, _really_ good.

Unfortunately before he could fully process his reaction, Quinn had broken off the kiss. “I’m going to be late,” he said gently, “but I definitely want to continue this part of the conversation tonight.” His pale eyes were full of emotion and worry and need, and at first all Clint could do was nod mutely.

“Love you,” he whispered, once he could trust himself to speak again.

That got him a smile. “Love you too.” Quinn leaned in and kissed him again, squeezing Clint’s hands briefly before letting him go. It was only a flash, but it set the archer’s heart racing as he watched Quinn leave.

When he was alone, Clint relaxed back into his pillows and thought back to the moment when Quinn had first pushed him down onto the mattress. It had been an impulse move – Clint knew from several of their longer conversations that Quinn enjoyed occasionally dominating his partners during sex. It should have been perfect, since Clint had been drawn to men capable of controlling him for as far back as he could remember.

He gripped his left wrist experimentally with his right hand; not hard, just firmly enough to call up another sense memory – one of being bound with high-tech cuffs, on his knees in the dust of the Sudan, looking up at Quinn. His right hand twitched, but instead of letting go Clint forced himself to rotate his grip, until it was palm to palm, fingers interlaced – just as Quinn had done. _I wasn’t imagining it._ Quinn’s _instinct_ had been to dominate, to control, just as much as Clint’s had been to submit, but because he was worried about triggering a flashback he’d either consciously or unconsciously shifted his grip to something less overtly dominating.

If he raised the subject, told Quinn that he _wanted_ to be pinned, wanted to be restrained, or even tied up during sex, Clint knew deep down that Quinn would refuse. Even though it was obviously something they both wanted, he would worry that Clint was rushing things, was trying – once again – to pretend that his issues didn’t matter.

 _He wouldn’t necessarily be wrong._ That was the bitch of their situation. Clint sat up in bed again, moving until his back was against the headboard. The fact that his brain had called up that particular memory when he thought about Quinn restraining him instead of just reacting to the move meant the trigger _was_ there. Clint was pretty sure if he had a flashback in the middle of them trying any sort of kink hell would literally freeze over before Quinn would be willing to discuss the subject again.

_So how do I fix this?_

He sat quietly for what seemed like a long time, knees drawn up to his chest, turning the situation over in his mind. When the answer finally came to him it was so simple – so obvious, that he laughed at himself as he scrambled out of bed and headed the shower.  
*****************  
Once he’d resigned his commission, Clint had needed to find a therapist for himself in the private sector. Committing so completely to his relationship with Quinn had complicated his recovery, but he was determined to do whatever it took to resolve his complicated feelings about the man he’d taken into his bed and his heart.

Help came, as he was beginning to realize that it so often did, in the form of Tony Stark. “Marissa Margolis. She was the first therapist who ever fired _me_ ,” the billionaire had explained. “She was right too – I wasn’t ready to be serious about fixing myself.” Clint managed to keep from pointing out that Tony obviously still wasn’t ready to be serious about that. “She’s got opinions and she’s not afraid to express them, but she’s also a really good listener. I think you’ll like her.”

Clint had dutifully arranged to have his medical files forwarded, and when he walked into the doctor’s office three weeks later knew immediately that Tony had found him the right person. “I want to propose a deal, Mr. Barton,” had been the doctor’s first words after he’d sprawled on her dark leather couch. “I’m not going to waste your time by suggesting this is going to be an easy process, and you’re not going to waste my time by withholding things crucial to your recovery. “ She folded her hands almost primly on top of his file. “If you can agree to those terms, I believe I can help you.”

Once he’d gotten her to agree to call him Clint, it proved to be the start of a very productive relationship.

“Okay Doc,” he said as he entered her office that afternoon, “simple one this time. How do I convince Quinn I’m not going to freak out if our sex life gets a little kinky?”

It had been a longshot that she would let him get away with the flip opener, so Clint wasn’t surprised when Dr. Margolis glared at him over her glasses. “Hello, Clint. I’m glad I was able to find an opening in my schedule for you. Please have a seat and tell me _why_ I’m not going to be wasting my time.”

Clint gave her his best grin, and was rewarded with the smallest hint of an answering smile. Taking the victory, tiny though it was, he straightened up and exhaled sharply. “Okay. Quinn and I were…fooling around…this morning, and he pinned me. It wasn’t anything serious,” he hastened to add, “but…” His voice trailed off.

“You liked it.” Margolis’ entire demeanor changed. She was serious and focused now – Clint could almost hear her brain putting the pieces of his life together and drawing conclusions. “Go on.”

“I did,” he admitted. “And I realized that I’d been missing it.” He glanced down at his hands, suddenly and inexplicably uncomfortable. “Quinn won’t go for it though.”

“That sounds like you assuming again, Clint.” The accusation brought his attention up, but when he met Margolis’ unwavering gaze, he faltered.

“This isn’t about the contract,” he protested. “It isn’t part of my PTSD. This is something I’ve always enjoyed, as far back as I…”

The doctor sighed, relaxing back into her chair. “You’re a sexual submissive. And you’re worried that Quinn won’t be willing to give you what you need.” She paused. “Is there a reason for him to be worried?”

“Maybe,” Clint forced himself to admit. “When it was just a reaction I was fine, but then I started thinking about it, and…” He felt his insides twisting up. “How do I fix this? It’s not just what I want – I know he likes being in control, and he won’t because he’s always waiting for me to freak out on him.” He threw up his hands. “Maybe I’m being stupid thinking it can be fixed…thinking _I_ can be fixed.”

 _That_ earned him another glare. “Sorry,” he said, blowing out another sharp breath and trying to bring himself back under control. “It was a bad night.”

“And instead of talking about the nightmares, you’re here looking for help with your sex life.” Smiling ruefully, the doctor shook her head. “Honestly Clint, outside of the issues we’ve discussed with your current relationship, your sexuality is one of the healthiest things about you. Do you know how many men in your position wouldn’t even be able to have an erection, much less fuck as often as you and Quinn seem to be able to?”

Her forthright manner was one of the reasons Clint liked Dr. Margolis. She didn’t try so hard to maintain the cool aloofness he’d had to put up with from other psychiatrists he’d seen over the years. “As far as your immediate problem goes, start small,” she said. “Ask him if he’s willing to blindfold you. Don’t worry about any of the other trappings just yet. Give him one of your senses along with your trust and see how far you’re really ready to go.”  
********************************  
One of the things Clint truly valued about Quinn was his ability to listen. Everything about him was still and focused as Clint laid out his thoughts that night, where his head was at and everything that had brought them to this moment. “I want to try this,” he finished, passing Quinn a wad of soft, black cloth. “With…you. I want you to blindfold me Quinn.” His heart was hammering in his chest, and he could barely breathe now that he’d got the words out.

He saw Quinn swallow, saw his hands close over the blindfold. “You’re serious?”

Clint nodded. “Very.”

“And you talked to the doc about this?”

“The blindfold was her idea actually.” Clint shrugged. “Something more psychological than physical, that we can ditch out of fast if I freak.”

Quinn seemed to consider everything he’d said for several long moments. Then he looked down at the length of black cloth in his lap, idly spilling it from one hand to another. Clint tried to stay calm – tried not to push him to respond. In his mind this had become an important step towards getting back to who he used to be, and it was a struggle to keep from projecting that onto Quinn. He needed Quinn to agree to take this step with him freely otherwise it was never going to work.

After what seemed like an eternity, Quinn looked up – meeting Clint’s gaze. “Okay then – give me your safe word.”

Clint was tempted to argue, to protest that he trusted Quinn not to take things too far too quickly, but he knew that now he’d agreed to go along with the plan, the ex-mercenary was going to be very thorough about making sure they did it safely. “Natasha,” he said finally.

Quinn choked back a startled burst of laughter. “Really?” His eyes twinkled with mischief. “Oh, I’m so going to tell on you.”

Clint’s answering grin was just as wicked. “What makes you think she doesn’t already know?” 

“Point,” Quinn conceded. “Now that we’ve got that settled, I think I want you to get rid of that shirt.” He gestured with the fingers of his free hand, and Clint reacted immediately; skinning out of the faded t-shirt and throwing it aside. When he met Quinn’s eyes again, Clint shivered at the heat in his gaze.

“You’re sure you want this?” Quinn asked, raising the blindfold between them without taking his eyes from Clint’s.

Clint shook his head. Before Quinn could ask him, he explained, “I _want_ you to tie me so tight I can’t move. I want to be helpless – I want you to tell me what to do, and I want you to punish me if I don’t do it.” He chuckled bitterly, running his fingers over the dark fabric. “ _This_ is what I’m sure I can do here and now without flipping out on you.”

Quinn leaned forward and kissed him – a soft, quick press of lips that still left Clint’s head spinning. “Thank you,” he said, settling back on the mattress. “Thank you for being honest with me about where your head’s at, and thank you for being willing to meet me halfway on this.” He pushed gracefully to his feet and moved around behind Clint. “Now let’s see about taking those eyes of yours out of play, shall we?” He dangled the blindfold at the edge of Clint’s vision.

The archer twisted around to look up at his lover. “Yes, please.” He let Quinn see everything he was feeling – nerves, excitement, doubt – all of it. “I’m ready.”

Quinn kissed him again – gentle, almost chaste this time. “Eyes front, hero.”

Properly placed, the blindfold was a soft, comforting weight across his eyes, but he couldn’t stop his hands from clenching into fists against his thighs as Quinn tied it securely in place. _You’re okay,_ he told himself, trying to breathe through the flash of panic that had burst unexpectedly in his chest.

“Can you see?”

Swallowing hard, Clint shook his head. He felt Quinn shift position until he was kneeling on the mattress behind Clint. Fingers carded through the tangle of his hair, repeating the gentle soothing motions until he felt his tensions start to ease. “You have control here,” Quinn reminded him. “If you can’t do this, say the word and it’s done.”

“I know,” Clint breathed, and inwardly cursed himself when he heard the tremor in his voice.  
************************  
Frowning, Quinn let his left hand fall lightly on Clint’s shoulder, while he continued carding the fingers of his right hand through his lover’s hair. “You have a safe word,” he said, pitching his voice so that it was low and soothing – the tone he typically ended up using when Clint was on the verge of coming apart. “Use it if you need it.”

Clint didn’t respond immediately. Quinn forced himself to remain calm, kept his breathing steady and controlled – letting Clint continue to set the pace. Finally, the archer gave a deep shuddering breath – forcing himself to relax. “I’m okay,” he said, and Quinn smiled hearing the fresh resolve in his voice.

“I know you are,” he said. Right hand mirrored left, and he began to lightly massage Clint’s too-tight shoulder muscles. “We’ve got all night.”

Moaning softly, the archer began to grow loose under his touch. Quinn continued working at a steady, unhurried pace, urging Clint backwards until the archer was able to relax against his chest. “All the way,” he murmured, and Clint’s head fell back softly against Quinn’s shoulder. “There we go.”

“No ropes tonight,” he mused, continuing the play of his hands across Clint’s shoulders, working over the curve of the joint and down to the muscles of his upper arms. “No chains, but I have wondered what it would be like to be able to fuck you brainless…” His hands continued traveling down Clint’s arms, leaving soft, relaxed limbs in their wake. “Keep you hovering just on the edge while you beg me to let you come.”

Clint shivered in his arms, whimpering low in his throat. Acting on pure instinct, Quinn tightened his grip on his lover’s upper arms and curled in close to his ear. “Did I say you could move?”

The archer froze; his mouth opened in shock, but no sound came out. Pressing his advantage Quinn continued, “I may not be tying you up tonight, but I am in charge here, Clint. You agreed to that when you let me put that blindfold on you, am I right?”

Clint swallowed hard, his answering nod quick and jerky. Quinn fisted a hand in his short hair, pulling up hard and sharp. Clint cried out, going absolutely rigid at the contact. His hands scrabbled for purchase for a moment before latching onto Quinn’s thighs. “Say yes sir,” Quinn purred, before tracing the curve of Clint’s earlobe with the point of his tongue.

“Yes sir,” Clint gasped. “God yes…anything you say.”

Quinn frowned slightly, hearing a vulnerability in his lover’s words, a desperate eagerness to please that he could almost guarantee had gotten Clint in trouble in the past. It was knowledge he would have preferred never to have, but he filed it away for later study and examination; recognizing it was useful to know. “Anything, hmm?” He forced a slow, lazy smile back on his face, grateful for the blindfold that hid his momentary hesitation. “Unzip yourself, hero. I want to see what you’ve got hiding in those jeans.”

Clint’s hands were visibly shaking as he fumbled open his belt and undid the button on his jeans. Quinn kept a firm grip on his hair, maneuvering himself off the bed and out of the way. As soon as Clint had pushed the waistband of his jeans and underwear below his hips, Quinn tugged him backwards; steadying him with his free hand. “Lie back,” he instructed.

When Clint was settled, Quinn let him go and crouched by the bed. “Hands over your head,” he said, letting his eyes roam appreciatively over the sculpted landscape of the archer’s nearly bare form. “Damn,” he breathed. “You have no idea how perfect you are, do you?”

Before Clint could forget himself and respond, Quinn glanced where he had put his hands. “The cross bar is right above you. Grab onto it and don’t let go, no matter what.”  
***********************  
His heart was still beating much too fast, but Clint could feel a strange sort of peace stealing over him as Quinn finished stripping his clothes off. _”Did I say you could move?”_ Just the memory of Quinn grabbing him, of the casual threat in his tone, seemed to send another jolt of pleasure straight to his cock. This was turning out even better than in his fantasies.

“I wish you could see yourself right now.” Hands skimmed the line of his jaw, urging his face up so Quinn could kiss him. There was nothing gentle about it this time – it was fierce and possessive, as if having the blindfold between them was freeing something in Quinn as well. “Mine,” he growled softly, once he’d stolen most of Clint’s breath and the balance of his good sense. The absolute certainty and pleased satisfaction in his voice pulled on things low in the archer’s body, making them pleasantly tight.

 _Hands against his bare skin, tracing the lines of his body, committing them to a more primal memory than words…_ “Don’t move,” Quinn murmured, following the curve of Clint’s hips with the heels of his hands and skating down the outside of his thighs. “Don’t think, don’t question,” he went on, maintaining physical contact the entire time. “Just know how important you are to me and that there is no place on earth where you are safer or more loved than right here and right now.”

Quinn wasn’t typically a man given to rambling – that was Clint’s role in their relationship – but as the stream of consciousness poured out between them Clint felt more and more of his misgivings being soothed away.

Warm hand circled the base of his shaft, lightly squeezing down. Clint whined low in his throat, hips flexing slightly. “Ever worn a ring?” Quinn asked, his tone turning speculative. Licking suddenly dry lips, Clint nodded quickly. There was a moment of silence, then Quinn asked, “Did you like it?”

“A lot,” Clint admitted, gasping as Quinn began stroking him. “I don’t have one though.”

He could almost hear Quinn’s smile when the ex-mercenary admitted, “That’s okay. I’m just thinking out loud for now.”

 _Skin against skin…Quinn releasing his cock, only to stretch out full length beside him…his own hard shaft slotting into the hollow of Clint’s hip…one leg thrown over Clint’s…his thigh a slow, sweet drag of skin against Clint’s cock as he flexed his hips…thrusting against Clint’s body…_ “Gonna fuck you so hard.” His thumb teased at the tip of Clint’s nipples as they kissed until the flesh was tight and aching.

Clint couldn’t think, couldn’t have formed words if his life depended on it. His cock was growing slick from the pre-come leaking steadily from the tip and the friction created by Quinn’s thigh. Endorphins were flooding his system, and everything was growing deliciously warm and tight.

Quinn shifted against him; Clint heard the drawer in the bedside table slide open, then heard the _snikt_ of a cap being flipped open. “This isn’t going to be slow or gentle,” Quinn said. He moved again, reaching between Clint’s legs. “Spread for me, hero.” Clint struggled to do as he was told, spreading his legs as wide as he could. Quinn pressed two lube-slick fingers against the furled skin of his opening, then gently but firmly pushed in. Clint cried out at the intrusion, his back bowing against the mattress as he pushed down.

“Someday soon I’m going to take you without any prep at all,” Quinn murmured, scissoring his fingers and stretching Clint open as he penetrated him all the way to his knuckles. “Lube my cock, get between your legs and fuck you as hard and full as that body of yours is aching to be fucked.”

Rambling though it was, talking was definitely having an effect on Clint – until that moment he would have sworn he couldn’t have been any more turned on than he already was. The muscles in his arms were starting to tremble from the effort of maintaining his grip on the headboard, but he knew nothing but Quinn’s tacit permission was going to convince him to let go at this point.

When Quinn was finally in position, his first thrust was steady and controlled, but hard enough that Clint had to scramble to brace himself just so the top of his head didn’t get shoved into the wall. The second stroke was just as hard, the third even moreso as Quinn found his rhythm.

His palm skimmed the column of Clint’s throat, whispering promises of future breath-play if Clint was willing to try it, down his chest and across the muscles of his abdomen as they tensed and released in time with Quinn’s thrusts.

“So perfect…so beautiful…love you so much you don’t even know…Clint…please…” The babble of words in his ear trailed off into the rhythmic sound of Quinn’s breathing mingled with small grunts of effort as each of his thrusts became harder; more focused and intense. Overwhelmed, Clint closed his eyes under the blindfold, bracing himself as best he could to meet each snap of Quinn’s hips.  
*************************  
A tiny corner of his conscience was still whispering that he was going to regret this, that something was going to go horribly wrong, that it was too soon, but as the heat and sweat and physicality of the moment began to overwhelm him Quinn was finally able to let go his fears and lose himself in the man underneath him.

He _had_ been holding himself back in a lot of ways, telling himself that it was for Clint’s sake, that Clint needed time to recover, to heal. The truth was that as often as he tried to reassure Clint that he was exactly where he wanted to be, in a very real way Quinn was still expecting _Clint_ to realize that he’d made a mistake. The fact that he’d taken one brief impulse move by Quinn and brought it around to this was simultaneously the most ridiculous and most touching thing anyone had done for the ex-mercenary in a long, long time.

Reaching between their bodies at last, Quinn wrapped his hand around Clint’s cock, his grip slipping a little over the steady trickle of pre-come leaking from the tip. The archer’s reaction was immediate; his back bowed against the mattress, and the sounds coming from him told Quinn more profoundly than words how very on-board Clint was with this shift in the action. “Mine,” he growled, jacking him with long, firm strokes.

He grinned as Clint nodded, quick and sharp. “Gonna feel so good when you come,” Quinn rambled on after a moment. “That perfect body squeezing down on my cock while I’m fucking you into the mattress.” He watched the muscles of Clint’s arms spasm as the archer struggled not to release his grip the headboard and thought for half a second about giving him permission to let go.

“Gonna tie you there next time,” he gasped, feeling his own orgasm crowding close. “Then you won’t have to worry about anything.”

It was enough.  
************************  
 _Heat and hands and that voice that he loved so much surrounding him, stroking him, filling him up…_ Clint was half out of his mind by the time Quinn gave him the image of his wrists tied to the headboard to focus on. His vision whited out completely as he came, every muscle taught and trembling; his strangled cries of pleasure trapped in his throat. 

A handful of hard, bruising thrusts later, and just as Clint was starting to come down off his peak, Quinn’s hips locked in place, his body absolutely rigid as he came, the noises he was making riding the line between pleasure, relief and outright pain. Clint knew his first moment of real regret since the blindfold had been tied in place; he would have given anything in that moment to see Quinn sweaty and trembling, and just as shattered by what they had shared as Clint felt.

After what seemed like an eternity, Quinn lowered himself until he was draped across Clint like a blanket. “You okay?” he asked, his breathing still coming in short, hard gasps of air.

Clint’s answering nod this time was slow and satisfied. “More than,” he breathed, laughing a little as he realized he was nearly as out of breath as Quinn was. “You?”

His answer was a kiss. Then, he felt Quinn’s hand fumbling near his face. “Close your eyes.” Clint obeyed, and the blindfold was finally pushed up and off his eyes. Once he could trust that the light wouldn’t hurt, he opened them.

Quinn leaned in and kissed him again; open-mouthed this time, as though he was determined to imprint every inch of Clint he could get at on his skin. Heedless of the fact that they were both covered in sweat and come, Clint finally released his hold on the headboard, wrapped his arms around Quinn, and rolled them both so the ex-mercenary was on his back at last. Their eyes met, and Clint’s heart skipped a beat as he realized Quinn’s defenses were completely down – that he was as raw and open and vulnerable in this moment as Clint was.

“Thank you,” Clint said finally, reaching down to push Quinn’s sweat-soaked hair away from his face. “For helping me, for trusting me…I know this hasn’t been an easy road for either of us.”

He saw the muscles of Quinn’s throat work as he swallowed. “When you were finally really able to forgive me for what happened,” he said, his voice thick with emotion, “I was sure I’d gotten more from you than I deserved in this lifetime.” He paused, and Clint was stunned to see his eyes redden. “What we did here, tonight, and the fact that you trust me enough to try and go farther…” His voice broke at last under the weight of everything he was clearly feeling.

It took some maneuvering, but Clint got them repositioned against a pile of pillows, hugging Quinn close to him – the tousled head pillowed properly on his shoulder. “Shhh…” he murmured, combing his fingers through the sweat-soaked tangle of Quinn’s hair. “I do trust you. Never doubt that.” He paused, tightening his arms around his lover. “It’s myself I haven’t been able to trust. But you’ve been patient, and you’ve been here, and God I love you so much for that.”

In the back of his mind Clint was aware that they were both a mess and a shower was in order before they even considered turning in for the night, but then Quinn snuggled more deeply against him, his breathing soft and regular at last, and suddenly nothing else mattered in the world.


End file.
